On the Day of My Bar Mitzvah
W e did not go to Russia. We stayed in the little house on the edge of town and things were quiet for a couple of weeks. The date of my Bar Mitzvah was July 7, 1941, less than two weeks after the Russians left Ludvipol. Because of the uncertainty and the fear of the Germans getting closer to our area, no celebra- tion of any kind was feasible. Nevertheless, when we went to the Stoliner synagogue for the religious service, my mother baked a cake and we took along a bottle of vodka for a Kiddush. To our surprise, there were many people present in the synagogue. The atmosphere was somber, and there was sadness and fear on the faces of the congregants. The coming of the Germans was imminent — from the description of the refugees, there would be nothing but hard times ahead. Few people suspected, however, that this could be the last time we would assemble in our beloved syn- agogue as free people with civil rights. Despite this gloomy scenario, the service was conducted with dignity and the prayers were chanted with great emotion. I handled my part of the service well, but with trepidation. Rabbi Akiva com- plimented me on my prayer reading, and we all wished each other “Mazel Tov.” As we were returning home from the synagogue, the Germans rolled into town on motorcycles. From that moment, everything became chaotic and very dangerous. The Germans immediately started to harass people, beat them up and make arrests. Eight people were killed immediately. Nothing in our life was ever the same.
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